


If Only...

by TrilliumWoods



Category: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Movies)
Genre: Extremely Unpleasant, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, I Love You, I'm Sorry Bubba, Implied Cannibalism, Murder, Other, Rape, Use of the R Slur, You Have Been Warned, this is just an experiment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21857497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrilliumWoods/pseuds/TrilliumWoods
Summary: If only your tire hadn't gone flat out on that rural Texas road... if only you and your companion hadn't knocked on the door of that old white farmhouse for help... if only... but it's too late now.
Relationships: Leatherface | Bubba "Junior" Sawyer/Reader
Comments: 17
Kudos: 69





	If Only...

**Author's Note:**

> ...............  
> IMPORTANT!!! CHECK THE TAGS BEFORE READING!!!  
> ...............
> 
> If you've enjoyed any of my other Bubba stories, be warned that this is NOT in the same universe!  
> This is just a thought experiment, an extremely brutal reading of the first movie and taking all of Bubba's most negative traits and pushing them to the absolute worst extreme. I just wanted to play around with a different, more horrific interpretation of him, one closer in line with how Gunnar and Tobe described him: and I quote, "extremely violent, severely retarded, and terrifyingly unpredictable".
> 
> I do not actually believe that he is a rapist in canon. He's a murderer and a cannibal and clearly doesn't show much concern for the distress of his victims or their personal space, but I don't really believe he does them any real sexual violence. But this made for an interesting challenge.
> 
> PLEASE DON'T READ IF THIS IDEA DISTURBS YOU.
> 
> For those of you who don't like the horrific non-con stuff, I'll be back to writing more loving, fluffy, sweetheart Bubba smut soon, never fear! :D

“I knew I should have checked that spare tire,” you groan.

Your companion sighs in shared lament, kicking a small pebble further along the dusty driveway you’re walking down. On the country road a ways back sits your car, an old Volkswagen Beetle borrowed from your father, one tire blown and the spare as flat as a pancake. Now here you are, in the Middle-of-Nowhere Texas, your planned road trip interrupted by an unplanned hike in search of assistance.

An old, classic-looking white ranch house sits at the end of the drive. It’s a little bit worn but sturdily built, and you get the feeling that this once was a thriving farm that’s had more and more of the prosperity drained from it with each subsequent generation. The white truck parked out front looks much the same, and it wouldn’t surprise you if it doesn’t even run. Still, hopefully if they don’t have a way to fix your tire they at least have a phone you can use.

A thin, older man opens the door a few minutes after you knock. He’s wearing slightly-shabby clothes and a wary expression, but you’re just glad he didn’t greet you with a shotgun. You’d been well warned that folks out here value their privacy, and if not for that damn tire you wouldn’t be troubling any of the locals this way. You hurry to explain the intrusion.

“Hi, we’re really sorry to bother you, but our car blew a tire and our spare is flat. Do you have an air pump we can borrow, or may we please use your phone to call for a tow?”

Thankfully his expression softens. “Ain’t no bother, come on in, we’ll get ya’ fixed up,” he says with a strong Texas drawl and opens the door wider with a grin. He reminds you somewhat of a buck-toothed bloodhound, a bit homely and jowly, but genial enough. You and your friend step through and into the hall, and your host closes the front door behind you. You don’t notice he locks it.

Inside is dark and smells weird and looks decidedly grimy, but you scold yourself before your classist thoughts about poor people being ‘dirty’ can even form. There are more animal skins hanging from the walls than you’ve ever seen in your life and a little it’s unnerving, but you try to keep casual and nonjudgemental. “I think we gotta spare tire out in a shed you can have,” the man offers. “I gotta git off ta’ work, but my little brother can help ya’ out now. He’s real strong, he can take care of it for ya’, now, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you, you’re very kind. We can pay-”

He holds up one hand with a smile. “Naw, now… now don’t you worry about that. We take care of folks out here. Gotta help yer neighbors and all.”You smile in return as he looks past your shoulders and hollers, “Jed! Git out here an’ take care of these people!”

You don’t have to wait for long before an odd metal door at the end of the hall suddenly slides open with a thunderous bang. The doorway is filled by a mountain of a man, so tall that he must bend a bit to keep from hitting his head. You open your mouth to greet him and introduce yourself, but before the words can leave your lips he lets out a screaming howl and runs right at you. He’s moving faster than a man his size has any business to, and you stand there in paralyzed confusion as he draws nearer. Something is wrong with his face. It’s distorted and wrinkly, and the color doesn’t match his neck or arms. You’re too stunned and bewildered to react… until you see the sledgehammer wrapped in his enormous fist. He raises it high and that at last draws a scream from you all - yourself, your friend and this creature, then he lets out the squeal of a hog before the sledgehammer comes down and clips your skull just enough to knock you silly, sending white flashing across your retinas as you stagger and fall. Then everything is black.

For several long seconds you think that you’re dead. It’s not until your assailant has dragged you along the floor by your arm the rest of the way down the hall and up what feels like a ramp that you finally come to. Confused and disoriented. What the hell happened? The pain where the sledgehammer hit is unreal, a sharp pulsing pain that you can feel all the way down through your neck. Surely your skull must be fractured. Surely the wet warmth spilling from your cranium includes brain as well as blood. You crack open one eye which bulges in horror when you see the dull, dead eyes of your friend above you. They’re frozen wide in their last terrified expression before the light and life left them in one devastating blow. The creature who dealt that blow has them draped over his shoulder, and a dark red stain is rapidly blossoming across his dirty-looking shirt, originating from the crater at the top of your murdered friend’s head. Blood pours from their nose and mouth, and alongside one ear and down their neck and you quickly shut your eyes again, praying that it’s only a nightmare. It _has_ to be a nightmare. It has to.

You at last come to a halt in a side room at the end of the hall. Your head is throbbing and your vision isn’t quite right, but you can still see a wooden butchers block in the middle of the room. The floorboards are sticky against your cheek. The room stinks. Your captor lets go of your arm and it drops to the floor like a cooked noodle, then he walks away. Clearly he isn’t worried about you escaping, and he’s right. You’re certainly not going anywhere at the moment. You can barely lift your head but you keep him in sight as he hoists that all-too-familiar corpse off his shoulder, and you watch in abject horror as he lifts it up and impales it on what must be a meat hook. You’ve never seen one before, but what else could it be? Bile rises in your throat and tears prick in your already-blurry eyes, then you startle at the sudden clatter of a metal tub being kicked across the floor and underneath the hook to catch the steady drip-drip of blood from your erstwhile companion.

The monster turns back towards you. He’s moving in a way that reminds you of the special ed students that went to your school, but you doubt any bullies would dare taunt him if he had been there. He shuffles closer and you get a better look at his ‘face’. He’s wearing a vaguely human-shaped mask of what looks like dry skin. Dark hair sticks up in short, dull clumps. You can’t see his eyes through the small shadowed eyeholes of the mask, but his mouth is clearly visible through the wide-stretched opening where that dead person’s own mouth once was. His tongue runs along his lips as he advances on you, and he looks like a dog salivating in anticipation of dinner. Or rather more like a bear, for there was never a dog as large as this beast before you now. This beast that apparently hangs people up to be butchered like meat, then wears their skins.

The second ominous hook is no doubt your fate, and your head injury must be even worse than you thought because suddenly you wonder if he’s got another metal tub somewhere or if you’ll be bleeding all over the floor once you’re dangling there too. He bends down to grab you and you feebly try to fend him off, but he’s so strong… too strong, and despite your efforts you find yourself lifted right off the ground. But instead of going on the hook you’re placed on top of the butchers block as if you were a toddler being placed in a high chair. Then you find yourself turned over onto your stomach, ass-up and legs dangling uselessly over the corner of the block, toes unable to touch the floor. His big, meaty hand fondles your hair and touches the corner of your mouth with unexpected gentleness before he presses his palm against your upper back, pinning you against the butchers block and rendering you completely helpless. Your panic increases when your pants are unceremoniously pushed down and he gropes clumsily at your underwear. You hear fabric rip and feel the humid air against your naked flesh. You hear the metallic pull of a of zipper being undone, feel a thick thigh spreading your own and you know what’s coming next. You struggle weakly, feebly, completely pointlessly, and that impossibly strong hand moves from your back to your head, pushing your aching skull down. The pain makes you go still, but you mumble a pathetic plea into the rough, bloodstained wood pressed against your face. “No, please don’t…”

The brute doesn’t respond, makes no indication that he’s even heard you, and you wonder if he’s too stupid to understand… or perhaps he’s just too cruel to care. He smells horrible: like smegma and sweat, musk and blood. The blunt head of his penis pokes blindly between your cheeks and you jerk, trying to get away and instantly failing. There’s nowhere to go. Nothing you can do to prevent your imminent violation. The reek of his body assaults your nostrils, the filthy smell of his unwashed genitals and the sticky warmth of your own blood trickling from the wound in your scalp and into your mouth making you gag. Your whole body goes tense and you cry out in pain as he pushes in dry. He isn’t too long, but he’s thick and it hurts. Burning pain flares up and doesn’t stop, and you try once again to escape but fail. He grunts like a hog when you clench around him, trying in vain to force him back out, but the tightness most likely only increases his pleasure. His scrotum presses against you once you’re fully impaled, heavy and hairy, the testicles within already swollen and pulled tight towards the root of his member and you pray that perhaps he won’t last long. That it will all be over quickly.

“Stop, please…” you beg though you know that it’s futile, and sure enough he starts rutting in a quick, brutal pace. There is no emotion in his thrusts. No rage, no sadistic glee, no desire to control. He’s fucking you like a machine, like an animal, like there’s nothing behind it but base instinct. Like a mindless beast programmed to breed without thought, without even knowing why it’s doing what it’s doing. He has no regard for your pleasure, but it also seems like he’s not deliberately causing you pain - he doesn’t appear to have the capacity to attend to either. You vaguely think this must be what it’s like to be fucked by a dog… or perhaps more like a boar in this case. But even a dog or a boar has more consideration for its mate than the monster behind you is showing.

His breath is foul like rotten meat, and you feel a blob of either drool or sweat land on your face as he pants harshly above you. It trails down your cheek like a slug, and you gag again before pressing your lips tightly together to prevent it from trickling into your mouth. You don’t need any more of him, fluid or flesh, inside of you than you already have. It oozes over your lips and down, pooling between your other cheek and the table, and as soon as it passes your mouth flies open again as you gasp out a choked sob. He grunts louder and his thrusting speeds up till he’s railing you mercilessly, his cock like a hot iron rod piercing your body, stretching you open and stabbing your soul, puncturing your spirit and draining your will to live. You stop struggling as you slip into shock, your mind leaving your ravaged body behind. You can’t tell if it’s your brain trying to protect you or the wound in your head, still spilling blood and throbbing more fiercely than the turgid phallus spearing you over and over. Your wooziness increases and you pray for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. Your assailant is squealing now, sharp and pained like a hog being butchered alive. Your vision is dimming, but you can still see your friend hanging from the meat hook out of the corner of your glazed-over eye. You actually envy them their death. Their suffering is over. But you are not so fortunate.

The brute’s vocalizations grow louder as he drives into you harder and faster still, a mix between howls and squeals. He sounds like a retarded child, a lobotomized idiot, a monstrous parody of what humans sound like during sexual passion. The fat of his stomach is hot beneath his damp, filthy shirt and it jiggles against your backside with each frenzied thrust. The coarse hair at the base of his cock and covering his sac grinds against your skin, musky and wet at last as his pre-ejaculate smears between his hard flesh and the walls of your abused hole. God, just let him finish… let him finish soon, and perhaps if he’s satisfied he might let you go.

The universe tosses you the tiniest scrap of mercy when within seconds of this thought he comes. Hot spurts of his semen coat your insides as he bellows and screams, huge rushes of air pushed up from the bottom of voluminous lungs through the drooling, slack-jawed mouth. His howls of release fill the room like his seed is filling up your body, and you choke out a sob as you feel it shoot deeper inside you in thick, heavy ropes. He’s ejaculating just as powerfully as he manhandled you and your friend, and it never seems to end.

He pulls out quickly when he finally finishes, and you moan in agony as your ravaged flesh clings to him… but at least his retreat is aided by the slickness he’s left behind. You feel it ooze from you, warm and gooey and unspeakably awful. The tissue inside and around your entrance feels swollen and ruined. You feel infected. Defiled. That whenever you are touched there in the future, even by the most tender and careful of lovers, you will forever recoil. That even if this monster lets you live, you’ll never be able to wash away the filth that he’s left behind. He doesn’t replace your pants or underwear, but you hear his zipper fasten again and you’ve never been so grateful because at least it seems that he’s finished for now. You don’t know what to expect next and you’re barely conscious enough to care, but you’re still surprised when his hand leaves your head and he rolls you onto your back. You try to blink the blood out of your eyes and squint fearfully up at his face, the face that’s covered by another man’s face. Your head is throbbing harder than ever and you can barely see, but even if you could you wouldn’t be able to find his real eyes through the shadowy holes he’s punched through the skin of that past victim. He’s still panting hard and you hope that maybe, just maybe, he’s unhealthy enough to drop dead from a heart attack right here from his exertion. But alas, he only licks his lips, fat tongue sliding out over and over to run along the serrated edges of his teeth. He reaches for your face with one hand and you flinch when the rough pads of his fingers brush against your cheek… but his touch is bewilderingly gentle considering what he just did to you. Odd, warbling coos drift from between his wet lips as he strokes your face. It almost feels like he’s trying to comfort you in his own inept way. Like he’s attempting to show affection. It’s too little too late, but you still fight the urge to look away from him, blearily searching for the eyes that are hidden in shadow and trying to plead with him to release you now that he’s had his way.

“Please… please, let me go. I won’t tell anyone.” It comes out as a barely audible groan. In all honesty you’re in no shape to crawl for help even if he _does_ let you go, but you’ve got just barely enough fight left in you to at least try.

There is no indication that he’s heard your request save for a very slight tilting of his head. His hand pets your hair one more time, then moves to the front of your shirt. He grips the fabric and pulls, forcing you into a slouching position on top of the block. He’s still taller than you even now, and especially since your neck is too weak to support your head, sending it lolling back and to the side like a rag doll. Your pulse is thready and weak. You get one last fuzzy look at the dangling corpse of your friend before you can’t keep your eyes open any longer.

“Please,” you slur one last time, and your captor goes quiet. You vaguely hear the scrape of something heavy being lifted off the block, but you don’t see the hammer raised high above your head before coming back down.


End file.
